Happier
by entirelymyown
Summary: One-shot. Songfic to Ed Sheeran's "Happier." One month after a devastating breakup, Draco Malfoy sees Hermione Granger walking into a bar with someone else. But is either of them truly happier apart? Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the song.


**Author's note: So, I've been having a rough bit of writer's block with "Learning to Cope," so I tried to give Ed's album a listen... And now here we are. A tragic Dramione one-shot to "Happier." I would recommend listening to it as you read, if you like that sort of thing. Enjoy!**

 **Happier**

 _Walking down 29th and Park_  
 _I saw you in another's arms_

Draco would've recognized that laugh anywhere. It was a tinkling musical sound, like glass wind chimes set afloat in a comfortable summer breeze. His eyes, an angry grey to rival that of the storm clouds above, darted to her pretty face. Her chocolate curls danced in the chilly night air, bouncing with every step she took. Her own warm toffee eyes were smiling as they focused on the baby blues of the gangly redhead whose hand was resting on the small of her back, far too close to her bum for Draco's comfort. A satiny silver dress glinted like starlight and flowed down her petite figure, hem reaching just above her knees and fluttering gently, giving the impression that she was floating in midair. She was, in a word, stunning, and yet it was another man who held her on his arm that night. Draco's chest tightened painfully as seething jealousy sunk its ugly claws into his heart and held on for dear life.

 _Only a month we've been apart_  
 _You look happier_

Her pretty pink lips were curved in an alluring smile, her pearly white teeth shining in the moonlight. Though he was nearly twenty feet away, shrouded in the darkness provided by a broken streetlamp, Draco could swear he could see the subtle freckles that kissed her skin across the bridge of her nose and beneath her eyes. He had spent night after night trying to memorize the subtle constellations hidden in them, mesmerized by the way they lay scattered upon her face and somehow made her even more fetching. The memory of their time together, the seventeen months and twelve days they'd spent touring Europe and challenging each other and rumpling bedsheets and growing together, caused an uncomfortable twisting pain in his cold, unwelcoming heart. She seemed to have forgotten him already. Thirty days, and he was barely a shadow in her mind, since she now gazed at the ginger with the kind of adoration that Draco had always craved from her.

 _Saw you walk inside a bar_  
 _He said something to make you laugh_

There it was again: the laugh that was likely the sound angels heard just before getting their wings. He watched from his safe distance as her dainty hand slipped over Ron Weasley's spindly arm, trying hard not to scoff at his own miserable state. He was skulking outside of the Three Broomsticks like a fool, not to mention completely neglecting the attractive young woman who was currently glaring daggers at him. Of course, he had no interest in Astoria Greengrass, but bringing her tonight was necessary—he could not be spotted lurking around alone as his ex-girlfriend traipsed around on the arm of Harry Potter's right-hand man. Their relationship had been blissfully low key, but their breakup had been explosively high-profile, and he was still volatile and brokenhearted. One month was not enough time for him to erase her from his mind, his heart, his life. She was still engrained in him, even as she clung to the arm of another man. Gruffly, Draco extended his own arm to the petite brunette at his side, wishing more than anything that he was holding a different brown-haired girl tonight.

 _I saw that both your smiles were twice as wide as ours_  
 _Yeah, you look happier, you do_

Wordlessly, Draco guided Astoria to the Three Broomsticks, holding the door open for her as his high-society upbringing had trained him. But when his eyes darted over to the center table in the pub, where Hermione sat beaming at the Weasel, all nuance of propriety abandoned him; she was all he could see, her soothing voice the only one that rang out above the din of the busy tavern. He led the Slytherin girl to a booth in the back of the crowded room without a single glance her way, not even bothering to feign interest. The vaguest detail, like what Astoria was wearing tonight, was utterly lost on him. Astoria was clearly disgusted by his behavior, but chose not to confront him about it, instead tilting her head to ogle a few single wizards in the pub unapologetically. She politely ordered an entire bottle of Giggle Water for herself, while Draco (against his better judgment) quickly requested a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. The drinks appeared at the table in an instant, and his date for the evening wasted no time before promptly popping the cork and unceremoniously taking a swig straight from the bottle. Draco hesitated with his own drink, gaze alternating between the beautiful woman shining in the center of the room and the shape of Astoria's back as she retreated from the table to flutter her eyelashes at a dark-haired wizard at the bar.

 _Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you_  
 _But ain't nobody love you like I do_

Finally left to his own devices, Draco allowed his mind to wander to the time he'd shared with Hermione Granger. He couldn't help the faint shadow of a smile that ghosted at his lips. She had made him insane, devoted to her entirely, though he would never admit just how deeply his desire for her truly flowed. After the War, she had put together a task force of witches and wizards to repair Hogwarts Castle. Despite the immense backlash she had faced in her decision, she held fast in allowing Draco to aid in the reconstruction of the school. It had been hesitant at first, and he never truly understood _why_ she had given him that chance, but that had become his way in. He had used that tiny window she had given him, the fleeting moments they shared clearing rubble from the hallway or righting fallen trees in the Forbidden Forest, to grow closer to her. She was beautiful, intelligent, charming, confident, strong, and talented: since he'd abandoned his father's ridiculous blood superiority pedagogy, he had realized that she was the perfect woman. It had taken quite a bit of time, but he had slowly chipped away at her hesitance and reluctance, and she finally gave in to his request to take her out for dinner one cold spring night. Even now, as she sparkled just beyond his reach, he swore it that it had been the best night of his life.

 _Promise that I will not take it personal, baby_  
 _If you're moving on with someone new_

As much as it pained him to watch her, his heart swelled with joy when he heard her laugh once again. She was the only person in the world who had a truly infectious giggle. The way her enchanting eyes crinkled at the corner, the way her full lips curled over perfectly straight teeth, the way she subconsciously tossed rich brown curls over her shoulder sporadically. He had gotten the chance to learn her, to understand the nuances of her personality. He knew just what to say to prompt her to spar with him; he knew exactly how far to push her before her interest became annoyance; he could tell when to wrap her small frame in his arms or when to allow her to stretch and move on her own; he instinctively knew precisely how to slant his lips over hers and when to pull away to leave her craving him. Her body was almost as familiar to him as his own, and every dip and curve in her skin had been properly documented by the slow graze of his fingers and the delicate trace of his lips. Her scent, always lavender and vanilla, had a profound effect on him. Her feisty personality was matched only by his sharp wit, and their conversations were stimulating and entertaining all at once. Without even knowing it, the two of them had balanced each other perfectly.

 _'Cause baby you look happier, you do_  
 _My friends told me one day I'll feel it too_

It had taken quite a lot for him to come out tonight. It was his first night out in thirty days, and he would not have done it if it hadn't been for Theodore Nott's incessant whining. Draco's mousy friend had prodded and poked until the blond was irritated enough to agree to anything. Delighted, Theo had sent a quick owl to Astoria, insisting that the two of them meet in front of the elaborate fountain in the middle of Hogsmeade Village. Draco had immediately regretted his acquiescence; he had no desire to court other women, or to even _look_ at other women. It may have been foolish, but he still held out hope that he could reconcile with Hermione. She was, after all, the only witch who had ever made him remotely happy. She was complex, and difficult, and stubborn, but all of those qualities only served to endear her to him even more. But once Theo got an idea, he clung to it like a vulture, so there had been no escaping this arrangement. The only good that had come out of it was seeing Hermione, getting to watch her face light up as she truly enjoyed herself, but even then his heart stung and his jaw clenched tight. She was capable of smiling without him, had the ability to live and function without having him at her side. Oh, what he wouldn't give to touch her just once more!

 _And until then I'll smile to hide the truth_  
 _But I know I was happier with you_

She was still imprinted on his soul. He had been miserable since the night she left, one evening much like this one. They had been content, or so he thought. He had planned for a cozy night in, when he could sweep her up on the couch and seat her delicately in his lap, holding her copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ , which Draco had been enjoying more than he cared to admit. They had spent countless nights that way, limbs entangled and simultaneously reading a book of her choice, pausing only for chaste kisses on the cheek, forehead, jaw, neck, lips. Just thinking of their little habits, their comfortable life together, made Draco's eyes sting and his chest constrict painfully. He could almost feel her pillowy lips on his own if he closed his eyes... But when he opened them once again, he was still alone in a shadowy booth of a grimy pub. He finally took hold of the bottle of firewhisky perched on the table, twisting the cap off hastily and took a rather undignified swill of the drink. The cinnamon burned his throat as it went down, and he welcomed the discomfort with ease, as it seemed to be the only way to distract himself from the dull ache of her absence.

 _Sat in the corner of the room_  
 _Everything's reminding me of you_

Truly, he was never going to be rid of her. She was too much a part of him. Everything he did, everything he saw, everything he heard—it all rang with some memory with her. This pub was where he had finally gotten her to admit that she still felt bad for hitting him outside of Hagrid's hut during their third year. The street he had taken to reach the bar was the one they had walked through together after she had kissed him for the first time, red-faced and laughing timidly as he smirked at her and twined his fingers with hers. The fountain where Astoria had met him at the start of the night was where he had stopped her when she confessed to doubting his confidence in their relationship, when he'd taken her lovely face gently in his hands and pressed a solid, hopeful kiss to her lips, silently giving himself over to her without inhibition. The midnight-blue jumper he wore was the same one he'd worn on their first date, when he had humiliated himself by revealing that he'd secretly been dreaming of taking her out since she had approached him for the repairs on the castle. And the firewhisky... The firewhisky was the same one he'd drunk the night she left him, when he'd been determined to forget she ever entered his life.

 _Nursing an empty bottle and telling myself you're happier_  
 _Aren't you?_

He was tiring of this perpetual hurt. He tipped the bottle of Ogden's up to his lips once again, but he found that he had already drained it entirely. Scoffing disgustedly at his own desperation, Draco ordered another flagon of the alcohol, anxious to feel the burn of the spice once again. Hermione had always detested the ease with which he could slip into his dangerous habits, urging him to drink only socially rather than have his usual glass before bed every evening. And when she had been with him, it had been easy to give up the juice, but now that she had abandoned him, his bad habit had only gotten worse. He was ashamed of himself, truthfully, but the sharpness of the drink was just what he needed to chase away the numbness. He had no idea how to deal with such reverberating heartache, because had never been so smitten with a woman before. Sure, he had had his share of casual girlfriends, but none of them measured up to Hermione. Seventeen months and twelve days, and somehow she had managed to grace his every thought and embed herself in his life. There was no way her presence in his mind and his heart was temporary, even now, but the brutal ache of their breakup drove him mad. He was suddenly acutely familiar with the seemingly hyperbolic tragedy of the scorned lovers she had so loved to read about.

 _Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you_  
 _But ain't nobody need you like I do_

He had no idea where he'd gone wrong and lost her trust. He had remembered to kiss her good morning every day, and kiss her good night before slipping into unconsciousness with her in his arms. He had realized that she hated flowers, because she'd said they were too pretty to be plucked and allowed to wither indoors, so he'd bought her books instead. Muggle classics, Wizarding tales, research tomes, and even a first-edition copy of _Hogwarts: a History_ signed by Bathilda Bagshot herself. He had never limited himself to complimenting her looks alone; he had praised her determination in her job as the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, marveled at her tenacity in dealing with Potter and Weasley's endless antics, lauded her endless passion for lobbying for the rights of non-human magical creatures (especially with S.P.E.W., her proudest achievement), and commended her unfailing patience with him, a man who had never been worthy of her love. He had been completely smitten with her, and he could not claim to be past those feelings. He was still drawn to her, unable to tear his attention away from her, watching from his dark corner as she lit up the room with a single electric smile.

 _I know that there's others that deserve you_  
 _But my darling, I am still in love with you_

The L word was one that did not come easily to Draco. But it had taken Hermione Jean Granger only five months and sixteen days to coax it out of him. She had swept him away completely, wrapped him around her finger more quickly than he could've imagined. There was much to love about Hermione, and he had known it all. Her personality was unmatched, her body unrivaled, her brain unparalleled, her heart unwavering, her entire being unequaled. Not a single person he knew could measure up to her. Thus, it wasn't a complete surprise when the words had come tumbling from his lips one windy August day, seated on a picnic blanket overlooking the recently repaired Hogwarts Castle. Her enchanting chocolate eyes had widened in shock before her perfect pink lips had curled into a gleeful smile. She had promptly launched herself into his lap, kissing him full on the mouth and wrapping her arms around his neck as his own arms wove around her small waist. When she had pulled away, her eyes glittered with joy as she had repeated the words to him. Later, she had shyly admitted that she had never told a man she loved him before, and he told her the same in a hushed voice, sure that his eyes betrayed the immensity of his confession. That had been the first night they'd spent together, doing nothing more than sleeping, cradling each other close as their hearts beat synchronously. He had never felt more relaxed, more safe, than that night.

 _But I guess you look happier, you do_  
 _My friends told me one day I'll feel it too_

If he was being honest, he did not want to be happy. Not if it was without Hermione. He could bear to see her moving on, see her laughing and smiling and enjoying herself without him. In fact, it brought a sort of masochistic joy to his broken heart to know that she was still capable of feeling happy. But for himself, he could barely stomach the thought. A life without Hermione was unthinkable to him. Who else would egg him on the way she did? Who else possessed such a vast knowledge and could constantly surprise him with some new factoid he never knew he needed? Who else's lips could feel like they were sculpted to fit his own with such quiet perfection? Who else could make him weak in the knees with a simple glance or subtle movement? No, he was absolutely certain that his happiness was linked to hers. Even if there was such a witch who could deign to take Hermione's place in his life, he would not want her. What good was an imitation when he had once treasured the real thing?

 _I could try to smile to hide the truth_  
 _But I know I was happier with you_

In this month, he had discovered just how much of his own happiness was directly caused by her. Before they'd entered their relationship, Draco had been utterly miserable, branded a villain and blacklisted in the Wizarding community, but all of that had changed after Hermione had chosen to give him a chance. The first time he'd laughed after the War had been with her. They had been working together to restructure the grand arch of the doors of the Great Hall, and she had made a silly joke about keeping a Gryffindor in suspense. He wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion, or the strain of his charmwork, or his pure incredulity that Hermione Granger was telling him jokes, but he had laughed harder than the quip actually warranted. Before long, her own hesitant giggles emerged to join his loud chuckles, and the two of them had ended up gripping their sides and struggling to catch their breath. Once the laughter had finally subsided, Draco had tossed out a line about being so tired that he could use an _espresso patronum_ , and they'd doubled over once again. That was how they'd spent the rest of the day, trying to outdo one another with corny puns and childish pickup lines. When they'd finally gotten through their amusement enough to actually restore the grandeur of the Hall, he had turned to her with a curious expression on his face. She seemed completely taken aback when he'd asked her to join him for dinner that evening, but her shock quickly melted into slow flirtatiousness as she'd agreed and given his arm a gentle squeeze as they left the castle.

 _Baby, you look happier, you do_  
 _I knew one day you'd fall for someone new_

He could not begrudge her this night out. Though Weasley was one of the people Draco could not bring himself to tolerate, he was one of Hermione's closest friends, and he made her smile. That was truly all that mattered to him now—that Hermione could laugh freely and live her life with abandon. As he watched her, he thought back to the night she left. He had found out days later that Pansy Parkinson had left her knickers on his dresser in what turned out to be a rather effective attempt to ruin his relationship with the beautiful Gryffindor, but he had not even seen them the night he brought Hermione to his home and offered that she rest on his bed as he prepared a meal for them. She had been rather tired, he recalled, because of a case moving through the Department that week. He had only wanted her to sleep as he cooked her favorite foods: mashed potatoes, gravy, and roast chicken, with chocolate fudge for dessert. But after he'd perfected the meal and charmed a handful of candles and rose petals to float around the room, he had gone to wake her from her slumber only to be greeted by a tear-stained bedspread, wide open balcony doors, and complete silence. She had taken all of her own belongings, the various articles of clothing and piles of paperwork that had been scattered around the room since she'd spent so much time there. The only thing she had left behind was the collection of books he had gifted her during their relationship. Every single book he'd given her, from the fiction to the treasured copy of _Hogwarts: a History_ had been deserted, stacked neatly on his bedside table and still carrying a trace of her intoxicating scent. He had sunk to the bed in shock, fingers closing around the small velvet box in his pocket as hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He had looked just once at the glittering diamond ring in his hand before chucking it to the back of his closet in anguish, and he had only just retrieved it that morning. He couldn't help but imagine just how breathtaking the ring would have looked on her hand, had she only given him the chance to explain himself to her.

 _But if he breaks your heart like lovers do_  
 _Just know that I'll be waiting here for you_

Having drunk enough to make his head buzz slightly, Draco stood to leave, but his knee bumped the edge of the table loudly. For whatever reason, the sound was enough to warrant her to turn around and look his way. And finally, for the first time in thirty days, swirling grey eyes met molten brown ones. The second their gaze locked, Draco's heart froze in his chest, and he swallowed hard to try and chase away the lump that had risen in his throat. Oddly enough, her extraordinarily expressive eyes did not betray joy and contentment as Draco had assumed all night; rather, they were baseless, almost dull. She was not as happy as he had pegged her to be. Though the Slytherin in him wanted to be delighted by this knowledge, it only made his heart ache even harder than it already did. If both of them were miserable, why were they still apart? He knew he could make her happy, and that she had smiled a truly exuberant smile when she was with him. Damn it all, he wanted her back, not just for himself but for her as well. He wanted to see her happy—to _truly_ feel happy—and he was determined to make it happen once more. His hand reached into the pocket of his robes to caress the box that was stowed there, since he had brought it along for some inexplicable reason. It took every ounce of Draco's courage to do what he did next.

Without breaking their eye contact, Draco curled the corner of his mouth upwards in an apologetic half-smile, biting back the tears that threatened to spill over. Then, slowly, he mouthed four words across the bar. He knew she had understood; he could see slow shock, deep sadness, and mournful hope bloom in her eyes, and a careful optimism swept over him. Perhaps she wasn't as unreachable as he thought. Perhaps these four words could be just what he needed to bring her back to him.

 _I still love you._


End file.
